


Dog With Sharper Teeth

by Rotpeach



Series: The Great Tumblr Rehoming of 2018 [21]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Feral Behavior, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2019-09-22 23:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotpeach/pseuds/Rotpeach
Summary: "Sure," he said, chuckling at some joke you weren't in on. "But I was thinking we'd do something a little different this time."You hesitated to even ask. "Like what?""I want you to run."





	Dog With Sharper Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> title is a daisy chainsaw track

It takes only moments, but to you, it feels like forever.

Two hours ago, you were standing in your bathroom, changing into something eye-catching and form-fitting that showed off just a little bit of skin—just the way he liked it, he said so—and scrutinizing your reflection in the mirror as you tried to practice giving a smile that was more bashful than terrified.

 _“Don’t be scared,”_ he’d said as he wrapped an arm around your waist with a grin that promised a good time and a rough night all at once. He acted like you didn’t have any reason to be afraid, like people weren’t vanishing into the night after leaving bars with strangers they’d traded a few sentences with. And you’d tried to act that way, too—you’d approached him and not the other way around, after all, sauntered over, flashed a smile and said, “Let me show you a good time, sweetheart,” because you needed the money. 

Half an hour ago, you were anxiously checking your phone for the time while fidgeting beneath a flickering streetlamp, jumping at every strange sound, eyes scouring the thinning nightlife around you for any sign of danger.

(As if you’d know it when you saw it when all the monsters look like people anyway.)

“Hey,” tonight’s date had said as he drew closer, a regular who still made your stomach jump, and something about his steps were just off. You couldn’t put your finger on it but there was just something about him, something that seemed a bit like an eagle staring down a salmon fighting the current, or a territorial house cat batting a mouse back and forth.

Predatory, you realized much too late, that’s what he looked like, and something deep within you whispered at you to run and never look back. But you pushed it down, beneath your attempts to rationalize and reason and make excuses for the eerie way the shadows danced over his face and the light glinted in his eyes.

“Hey,” you said back, and you heard your voice waver and felt your knees shaking, but you held on, you held your ground, you told yourself there was nothing to be afraid of. You’d done this before. He wasn’t a stranger, not really; you’d rutted against each other in the bar restroom and stumbled home with him, waking up in the early morning covered in bruises and bite marks and feeling like you’d fallen out of a moving vehicle on the highway. You’d been drunk enough that you didn’t remember much, but you remembered being afraid of him. He’d given you twenty bucks and a pack of cigarettes and told you he’d like to see you again.

(This was not the amount you’d agreed upon, but he promised twice as much next time, and like a fool, you believed him.) 

“You okay?” he asked, lips drawing up into a cruel grin. “You look kinda scared.” He looped an arm over your shoulder and leaned in, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You smell nice.”

You froze, certain he was being sarcastic—you didn’t think to do anything more than apply some deodorant earlier and surely smelled like nothing but sweat by then—but he pulled back with narrowed eyes and dilated pupils, licking his lips. 

 _“Really_ nice,” he growled.

Growled, like an animal, and that had you trying to slip out of his grasp and step away without being consciously aware of it until he stopped you by tightening his grip on your shoulder. 

“Where’re you going?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out.”

“I’m not,” you said. You tried to look him in the eye but he was looking back with a hunger that you were beginning to think wasn’t wholly metaphorical. “Do you have the money?”

“Sure,” he said, chuckling at some joke you weren’t in on. “But I was thinking we’d do something a little different this time.”

You hesitated to even ask. “Like what?”

“I want you to run.”

You didn’t think you heard him right. You told yourself you didn’t. “Sorry, what?”

He took a step closer and you took two back on reflex. “I,” he said, his voice dipping back down into that low, animalistic growl, “want you to run. So I can chase you.”

Your heart was hammering against the inside of your chest like it was ready to get the fuck out of there even if you weren’t. You took a deep breath but you still shivered when you asked, “Why?”

His eyes narrowed and he snarled, “Do you want the money or not?” and you thought his canines were far sharper than a normal person’s. You nodded shakily. “Alright. Then get going. And don’t half-ass it, I want this to be a challenge.” 

“I’m not…I mean, I’m not exactly the best runner…” you mumbled.

That just made him smirk. “Oh, you need a little motivation? How about this?” he’d asked. With his next step towards you, he hunched slightly like a prowling wolf and growled, “You won’t like what happens if I catch you.”

Four minutes ago, you were running. You didn’t know where you were going, you just knew you had to keep moving or you would die. He’d given you a head start, laughter echoing behind you as you sprinted away from him, and you thought it’d been a cruel prank of some kind but hadn’t cared, _the asshole could keep the fucking money._

But then you turned at the next corner and you heard his footsteps loud on the pavement behind you, and you realized he wasn’t joking at all. He was mere steps behind you in a matter of seconds, unnervingly silent save for the deep, rumbling growl you’d heard before but even louder now, taunting you for daring to sidle up to a wolf poorly disguised as a sheep when you knew what he was all along.

Thirty seconds ago, you knew you were dead. You were hopelessly lost, your lungs were burning and your legs were giving out. You leaped over someone’s fence and trampled someone’s weed-filled garden. You stumbled over your own feet, catching yourself on the pavement with your knees and palms, skinning them in rough, lined patches, and you sobbed, trying to crawl away when he caught your ankle and pulled you back to him, back towards the maw of the beast that opened wide to devour you.

Ten seconds ago, you were twisted around onto your back so you could look at him—he wanted you to, wanted you to look him in the eye and understand exactly what you’d once jumped into bed with—and you squirmed and writhed and fought but it didn’t matter. He held you down until your struggles ceased and you began to tremble instead.

Four seconds ago, he bared his teeth. You were paralyzed with fear when he leaned in to smell you, taking a long, audible inhale against the tender flesh of your throat. 

Now, he laughs under his breath, his fingers digging into your skin. He brushes his lips against the outer shell of your ear with unnerving gentleness, making you shiver, and mutters, “Let me show you a good time, sweetheart.”

And then he bites down.


End file.
